Creatura de Luna
by Banbi-V
Summary: The man in 221B Baker St isn't an average man, and John Watson discovers dark secrets that changes both their lives and unlocks his mysterious past. Have they met before, in another time, under different circumstances?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Got this idea after wandering around tumblr and youtube at 1 in the morning. Need I say more?

* * *

Creatura de Luna

Ch 1.

"Who would want me for a flat mate?" John asked lightly, glancing down at his leg and cane. Nobody would want an invalid soldier to room with.

Mike Stamford smiled. "You're the second person to ask me that today."

John raised an eyebrow. "Who's the first?"

"An old colleague of mine. I'll introduce you two this evening, he's usually busy during the day," Mike checked his watch. Only 6 hours.

"Oh, is he one of those night workers?" John asked, interested.

"Well, he works any time he pleases, just today he's particularly busy," Mike pulled out his phone and started texting. "I'm sure by tonight, he'll be free."

_Found a flat mate for you. ~MS_

A second later, he phone beeped.

_Who? ~SH_

_I found him. ~MS_

_Tonight. 9pm. You know the address. ~SH_

Mike showed the text to John and he nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"I should warn you," he added, tucking his phone into his pocket, "Sherlock can be a bit…strange, and that's putting it gently."

"His name's Sherlock?" John asked incredulously, though calm. "As in…Sherlock _Holmes_, the detective family that's been in London as long as it's existed?"

Mike nodded. "That's the one; it's tradition in his family to name the second son Sherlock. Don't worry, he's not pompous or anything, in fact he hates it when anyone mentions his family name."

"Ah, gotcha," John propped his cane and pulled himself up, wincing at the sting in his shoulder and leg. "Well, where am I meeting you and this Sherlock Holmes tonight?"

"The address is 221B Baker St, next to Speedy's café," Mike smiled.

"Right, see you then," John hobbled off, punching in the address to his GPS app. He could walk there from his hotel, if he wanted.

Mike waited until John was out of ear shot then yanked his phone and hit speed dial.

"He'll be there…no, when I mentioned your name, he got the reference…no, I didn't tell him-yes…yes, I'm positive it's him. Hang on," Mike pulled up the picture he had taken of John while texting Sherlock and sent it to him, a heavy weight in his chest.

He put the phone back to his ear. "Well? Hello? Sherlock, are you there?" The line was dead.

* * *

John hobbled down Baker St, catching sight of the café and the large black door beside it with the golden letters 221B on it. In the cafés window, he saw Mike sitting with a cup of coffee.

"Hello Mike," he said upon entering.

"John!" Mike exclaimed, a bit too loudly. "Ah, you scared me. Take a seat, Sherlock's not home yet."

"Oh," John pulled the chair out and sat down. "I'll take a coffee, black," he told the waitress. "Is everything alright? You seem…jumpy."

Mike chuckled nervously. "No, no I'm fine. It's always hard to tell how Sherlock will react to potential flat mates. He's very nitpicky."

A steaming hot cup of black coffee slid its way in front of John and the cute waitress walked away. "Thanks," he called, taking a sip. "Ooh, that's good."

Mike nodded and studied John. He really hadn't aged after all these years, and Sherlock…god, he hoped this worked. Out in the street, he saw a figure appear in the shadows. He tried not to smile, knowing Sherlock loved to play the clichés sometimes. The lights glow drew lines on his pale face, accentuating his high cheek bones, broad jaw line and small chin as he practically glided down the street.

As he approached the café, Sherlock's dazzling eyes went to the back of John's head. Keeping his focus on that head of blonde hair, he stepped into the café.

"Michael, a pleasure," he extended a gloved hand, his voice deep and warming. John glanced up and nearly dropped his coffee.

This man, Sherlock Holmes, was...he couldn't even find the words. Indescribable, he thought dumbly.

He was extremely tall, his wide broad shoulders slimmed down to an unnaturally thin waist underneath a black trench coat. His skin was white as snow, dark raven hair and right at that moment, their eyes met and John felt his heart skip a beat.

There were bright blue, no silver…green? All of the above? He didn't know, but…Sherlock Holmes was breath taking.

"You must be John Watson," he said, extending his out. "Michael informed me you were seeking a flat mate?"

"Uh…yes! Yes, I am, and you are too?" he asked, getting to his feet with the assistance of his cane.

Sherlock nodded, his eyes taking in the sight of John. _It was him…_ "Yes, I managed to get this flat at a discount rate, so the price won't be very tedious to pay."

John shrugged. "Fine with me, mind if I take a look before agreeing?"

"Absolutely," Sherlock motioned for them to head outside, holding the door open for him.

"Thank you," John muttered. The moment he was outside, Sherlock slammed the door and marched toward Mike, who looked ready to keel over. John watched in confusion as they talked, well from the looks of it, _Sherlock _was antagonizing Mike, but he couldn't hear a word.

* * *

"Where did you find him?" Sherlock asked urgently. "Tell me the truth!"

Mike gripped the table, his face and knuckles turning white. "D-during a raid in Afghanistan. We found a room with crates, he was in one of them."

"Does he remember!?"

"Not that I can tell. We found scrolls with him; from those we pieced his life together. It's him, Sherlock, he was the captain who captured you at-"

"I remember!" Sherlock hissed. "What story did you give him?"

"That he was a POW and his imprisonment is probably inhibiting him from recalling his memories. He has no idea, I swear," Mike was shaking, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

Sherlock let him go. "Good. Everything is going according to plan."

"When do you plan to tell him?"

Sherlock smiled, glancing out the window at John. "I don't."

* * *

"So sorry about that," Sherlock grinned, exiting the café leisurely. "Shall we take a look?"

John nodded, eyeing Mike and mouthing, "Are you okay?"

221B Baker St was very quaint and cozy, John mused as they ascended the stairs. "You live by yourself for long?" he asked as Sherlock unlocked the door.

_Far too long_. "For a little while," he admitted, opening the door. "After you."

In one word, John could describe the flat: messy.

"Um..Do you have a house cleaner?" he asked.

"Why? What's wrong?" Sherlock moved past him, towards a table with a laptop and-_was that a pickled brain?_

"Uh-uh, well it's just-there's a brain on the table!" John pointed out, slightly disturbed. Sherlock glanced at the brain then picked it up and handed it to John.

"What the hell?" he tried to get a grasp before the darn thing fell to the floor.

"Put it in the fridge, this spot can be for your computer, assuming you have one," he said, pushing a stack of papers out of the way.

With a disgusted face, John maneuvered his way to the kitchen, where a full chemistry lab set was on its own table with more pickled…_things_. He balanced the jar in one arm and pulled on the fridge door.

The jar fell to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces, water splashed his feet, and the brain bounced.

"There's a severed head here!" he screamed, slamming the door.

Sherlock poked his head in from around the corner. "An old colleague of mine. He's harmless."

John stood there, flabbergasted. He stared at Mike through the doorway. "Are you _fucking_ serious!?" he mouthed.

Mike nodded once.

"So..What do you think?" Sherlock smiled, showing off his straight white teeth.

"I think you're mad, completely deranged!" John snatched his cane and headed for the door. "Do the police know about you?"

"Yes, I'm a consulting detective for them. When they get lost on a case, which always happens, they call me to set them on the right path. They are aware of my methods," Sherlock explained.

John scoffed. "Unbelievable! And they're okay with…," he motioned to the mess he made, "this!?"

"No, but that doesn't stop me. So I ask…how soon can I expect you to move in?"

John's jaw dropped. "Y-you-you're serious!? No wonder you can't find a flat mate!" Before anyone could say another word, he stormed out of the apartment and on to the street, getting away from that freak house as quickly as possible.

Sherlock bent down and scooped up the brain on the floor. "Well, this is useless." He tossed it in the trash bin.

"Sorry Sherlock, I tried-" Mike started.

"No, no…he'll be back. I'm certain," Sherlock walked to the window and watched John call for a taxi. "He always came back."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Happy New Years! Here's a little flashback as a treat!

* * *

Ch 2.

"_Where is he? Where's the monster?" Captain John Watson yelled, marching into the dungeon._

_He turned the corner to find a group of his best men wrestling a man-no, a devil-onto a rack, binding down his arms and legs with rope. With a flick of his wrist, the devil snapped it and seized one of his men, throwing him to the ground._

_The rest of Watson's men yelled and slammed him to the floor, fighting to keep him down._

"_Sir, we need something stronger than rope!" one of them yelled._

_John pulled out his special gun, and taking careful aim, fired one silver bullet into the devil's shoulder. He roared in agony as his blood speckled the floor, his black curly hair stuck to his face with sweat. It was enough time for his men to grab their captive and slam him back onto the rack as John approached, grabbing a pair of shackles._

_John clamped them as tightly as possible around the wrists and ankles before glancing at the face of their captive._

"_Radu, we meet at last," John sighed contently as his men carted him into his prison cell. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."_

"_Clearly you have not been looking well enough," Radu replied with a snarky tone. He tested the strength of the metal, but it wouldn't budge. Much._

_John smiled. "Don't bother. After dealing with your father, I had these shackles especially made for you."_

_Radu grinned, his gums lined with stale blood. "I'm touched, Captain Watson."_

"_Leave us," he waved to his men and pulled the wooden chair from the corner and sat down, removing his hat. He took out a series of tools from his pouch and tore the shirt Radu was wearing to see his wound. "I'll be taking that bullet back now if you don't mind."_

_Without word or warning, he stuck a compression forcep into the wound, purposely twisting it to cause as much pain as possible. Radu bucked and screamed as John tore into muscle, causing blood to flow endlessly out of the wound. When he found the bullet, he slowly retracted it and with a flick of his wrist, ripped the skin so the wound tore from his collar bone to his armpit._

"_There we are," John grinned and let the bullet drop to the stone floor, clinking away. "Ah, now…about your wound. Unfortunately there's not a lot I'm willing to do for you," he said, grabbing a soiled rag off the floor and placing it over the wound. Radu hissed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He then chuckled, trying to catch his breath._

"_Torture isn't your forte, Captain Watson," he panted. "No…you are suited for something much more."_

_John wiped the blood off his instrument, deliberately ignoring him._

"_I have seen men like you," Radu went on, his voice dropping an octave or two, so low, John unconsciously leaned closer to hear him. "You pretend to be strong leaders, but deep down…you're weak."_

"_Is that all?" John moved away, stocking his sterilized tools. He moved to grab his cap when the sound of busted metal filled the room and the next moment, he found himself pinned against the wall. He kicked and tried to throw a punch, but Radu captured both of his wrists with one hand and shoved them into the wall above John's head. His other hand gripped his jaw and turned his head to the side, exposing his neck beneath his uniform collar._

"_No," he purred, pressing his lips against John's ear. He exhaled, letting his hot breath tickle John's flesh. "You want like to be in control because you fear being controlled. And yet…you want it. Your desire to be dominated, to be taken advantage of; which is why you gained the position you have. You let fear rein you and use it to take others prisoner. You won't fool me, John, I know what you desire," he whispered, grazing his lips down his neck to that sensitive area of skin; the section so easy to penetrate._

"_You're wrong," John's voice was strong and steady. "I took this position because it was my father's after yours murdered him!" He shoved back with surprising strength and pulled his gun again. "I will empty this into you. Stay back!"_

_Radu chuckled, his deep laugh booming and sending chills down John's spine. "You think your little gun frightens me? Or this pathetic wooden slab?"_

"_I will make you suffer for what your father has done and whatever heinous crimes you've committed!" John cocked the gun and aimed. "Stand down, Radu."_

_He took one step and John fired, hitting his wounded shoulder. Radu grunted in pain but kept moving. "You should know as well as anyone, Captain, silver bullets won't harm me. It was a comforting lie told to you and your men."_

_John fired again, hitting him in the ribs. "Don't think you can fool me, you devil!"_

_He took a step back when Radu moved, his hand reaching out to take the gun. "You cannot kill me, Captain, not with your petty weapons."_

_A bullet left a hole in his hand and Radu staggered back, clutching it._

"_I'll be damned if they don't do some damage to you. I'll have you in the dry well by sunrise so you can burn!" John threatened._

_Radu grinned and met John's gaze. "Now there's a threat. A poor one, but better than your bullets."_

"_Sunlight kills you, I know it does!" John yelled, a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. He was getting nervous…and desperate. Radu's smile widened._

"_I will not deny that, though it does take some time; it's not the instant incineration like you believe," he admitted, beginning his advance again._

_John fired twice more, hitting him in the chest. He pulled the trigger again, but it clicked and his pupils dilated. He reached down for his pouch and-_

"_Looking for this?" Radu held it up in his injured hand, soaking it with blood. He threw it out into the hall and made his move._

_With panic taking over, John slammed his gun into Radu's head, but it did little damage. Radu seized his wrist and pressed down on the vein, forcing John's hand open. He yelled in pain as his weapon fell and Radu twisted his arm behind him, slamming both of them into the wall. The stone cut into John's right cheek as Radu leaned in, inhaling his scent._

"_I do commend you for a valiant effort, Captain," he whispered into his ear. "All of the others would be dead by now."_

"_If you're going to kill me, stop talking and just do it!" John snapped. "Don't be a coward and delay."_

_Radu clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Now, now, dear John…are you anxious for death? I like you…you fight bravely. I might even keep you alive for my own pleasure."_

_No! John struggled in his iron grip. He refused to be fall victim to these monsters. "Unhand me, you bastard!"_

"_So you can lock me away? I don't think so," he said, producing a knife he'd taken from John's medical bag. He made a fast swipe beneath John's ear, delighted to hear his gasp of pain and to see his bright crimson blood trickle down his head. Radu dragged his tongue up that path, relishing in the sweet, salty taste of blood before placing his lips over the cut and sucked._

"_Men!" John screamed, bucking furiously as Radu swallowed mouthfuls of his blood, squeezing his neck to force more blood out. The group came dashing in and it took four of men to pry the monster off John._

_He collapsed to his knees, clapping a hand over his wound, his vision growing blurry and dark._

"_Get the captain to the infirmary!" one of the men shouted who was holding Radu down. Two men came to his aide, one tearing his sleeve off and pressing it to John's throat. They lifted him by his arms and legs, carrying him through the door and down the hall._

_As they reached the stairs, they heard Radu yell, "I will have you, Captain Watson. No matter what it takes! I. Will. Have. You!"_

_One of John's men pulled out a syringe and emptied it into Radu's neck and moments later, he fell unconscious and limp._

* * *

Sherlock snapped his eyes open, breathing heavily. It had been centuries since he'd dreamt of his early encounters with John. The faint taste of John's blood lingered from the dream on his tongue and he fought the urge to indulge once more.

Granted, John Watson was nowhere near him at the moment, which complicated things. Sherlock sat up and took another deep breath. This wasn't going to work…getting John to live with him if memories like this plagued him.

He checked his phone _3:44am_, of course and there was a text from an unknown number.

_How much is the rent? ~John Watson 8:35pm._

Sherlock beamed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Just a note for those who asked, Radu is Vlad the Impaler's second legitimate son. And he is Sherlock in their flashbacks.

* * *

Ch 3.

John's jaw dropped. "Y-you-you're serious!? No wonder you can't find a flat mate!" Before anyone could say another word, he stormed out of the apartment and on to the street, getting away from that freak house as quickly as possible.

As soon as he had Baker Street out of his sight, John collapsed on to the nearest bench and caught his breath.

"_What the hell was that?!"_ he rubbed his short hair, taking deep breaths. That man-Sherlock Holmes-was insane! His home was practically was a wicked science lab, full of pickled body parts and god knows what else. No wonder he has such a hard time finding a flat mate!

John got back to his feet and made his way to the dinky hotel he'd been staying in since he returned from Afghanistan and sat on the small bed. On cue, his phone chimed.

It was Mike Stamford.

"Now before you say anything, let me explain-" he started, but John cut him off.

"There's nothing to explain!" he said annoyed. "That man's a lunatic! Jeeze…Mike, why do you even hang around him?"

Mike sighed from the other side. "Look, as I said, he comes off a bit strong, but trust me…give him a chance."

"A chance!?" John scoffed. "To do what? Dissect me and use me for one of his experiments, no thank you!"

"John…just hear me out," Mike pleaded. "Sherlock Holmes is strange, there's no denying that, but I'd trust this man with my life. He may not act like he's human, but he's the only option you've got. You don't want to spend the rest of your life living alone in a crappy hotel, do you?"

"_No…,"_ he thought to himself. "I don't really see how living with a psychopath is better living alone, though."

"Honestly, once you get to know him, Sherlock's not all that bad. He may not have seen the front lines like you have, but he's had some dark times in his life," Mike said, trying not to give too much away.

John laughed. "I'll bet, judging by his flat."

"So…you'll take it, then?" Mike sounded anxious and hopeful.

With a deep sigh, wondering if he was truly losing it, John replied, "What choice do I have? Yeah, what's his number? I'll text him."

Stamford grinned and quickly sent him Sherlock's digits. "You won't be disappointed, my friend. I promise."

"Me too," John said aloud, setting his phone down. Before his mind and heart could battle it out, he sent one text, sealing his fate.

_How much is the rent? ~John Watson 8:35pm._

Hours went by and still no reply, so John turned in for the night. He had a dreamless sleep, which he wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but he did wake up with his neck aching terribly, particularly the right side.

He popped a few Advil pills and scanned the telly, finally settling on his usual crap show. Around noon, the ache in his neck hadn't gone away as he headed out for lunch by himself.

Without realizing it, John walked into Speedy's café, right next to 221 Baker Street and sat down. As he scanned the menu, a figure stood over him.

"Good morning John," it was Sherlock. He sat across from him and smiled, holding up his phone with John's text on the screen. "So, you changed your mind?"

"Yep," John said, trying to shut his mind up. "Is that…is that alright with you?"

"Of course it is. There was never any problem," he replied. "Will you need any help moving in?"

John leaned back in his chair as the waitress brought them both a cup of coffee. "A few things, I'm sure I can manage by myself."

"Nonsense," Sherlock insisted. "I'll arrange for someone to bring your belongings here at once."

"Someone?" John asked. "Just some random person-no thanks, I can manage."

Sherlock sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "My brother's employees," he seethed the words through his teeth. "Works for the British government, practically _is _the government. Your things will be safe, I assure you."

John glanced at him and turned his attention to the newspaper lying there. "These suicides are quite interesting," he commented.

Sherlock gazed out the window, biting his fingernails. "Yes…there's a connection, I don't know how, but there is."

"Between suicides?" John was stunned. "How can there be a connection-"

"There are several similarities," Sherlock pointed out. "They're with someone, at night, and they've all had the same poison in their system, found in a place they shouldn't be-"

"Right," John kept reading the article. "Why exactly does it concern you?"

The older man shrugged. "It doesn't _concern _me; it's my job to observe these things."

"Observe? What, do you work for Scotland Yard?"

A small grin came to Sherlock's lips; a faint glimpse of his teeth visible and the sight made John unconsciously rub his neck. Sherlock noticed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, locating the scar on John's neck. The one he made all those centuries ago. He fought the urge to grin again.

"Must've slept on it wrong," John turned his head and cracked his neck. While the sound was unsettling, he relaxed. "Aaah, that's better."

"Hardly," Sherlock picked up the bill for John's lunch.

"You don't have to-"

"Consider it a house warming gift," Sherlock rose to his feet. "Now there's someone special you should meet. Our landlady."

John followed after him next door, where upon entering, he called, "Mrs. Hudson!"

An elder woman, tiny and petite came running from the door at the end of the hall. "What is it now, Sherlock? Has something happened?"

He beamed, straightened up and stepped aside to reveal John. "Meet the latest resident of Baker Street, John Hamish Watson."

He snapped his gaze at Sherlock. "How do you know my middle name?"

"What?" Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson echoed one another.

John repeated himself. "I never told you my middle name, how do you know it?"

"I saw your ID when you had your wallet out. Watson, John Hamish. A fitting name," Sherlock smiled, but his eyes said something else. Like he'd been caught or something.

_Strange indeed_, John mused. He extended a hand. "A pleasure, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, welcome!" she smiled sweetly. "It's been ages since we had someone else here. Will you be needing the bedroom upstairs or-"

"Yes, we will be needing it," Sherlock stated firmly. His gaze was cold and harsh, as if Mrs. Hudson had insulted them. "John prefers privacy, don't you?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes…also curious as to why you know _that_."

"You're a military man, a simple deduction," Sherlock hopped up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone.

She shook her head. "He's always been a bit odd, that one. I suppose I'm used to it now. Don't you worry John dear, you're perfectly safe here."

Upstairs, Sherlock laughed to himself. That was the farthest thing from the truth.

* * *

_It had been three days since Radu's attack on John Watson and the entire base was in a tizzy._

_Was he going to go mad?_

_Was he going to die?_

_Questions buzzed through the halls like flies as everyone wanted to hear the anxious news. Even down in the dungeons, prisoners listened intently, except for Radu, who was otherwise preoccupied._

_The moment John Watson had been removed from the cell, bleeding profusely from the neck, the guards tossed Radu into 'The Pit' as they called it. A dried up well with a nice wide opening. When the sun was straight overhead, the entire pit was illuminated and there would be no shadow of sanctuary for him._

_His screams of agony filled the halls as the guards listened with delight as he scratched the door, cursing them._

"_How long do you think he'll last?" one of the guards asked._

"_Dunno, considering he's the devil's son; could be ages before he dries up," the other chuckled. "I'd like to stake him for what he did to Captain Watson."_

"_That's no fun," his colleague replied. "Then we'd have no one to torture."_

_Up in the infirmary, John was being tended to by the best staff possible. A young nurse with yellow blonde hair and blue eyes gently cleaned his wound. It wasn't deep, but it would leave some nasty scaring._

_As she finished her work, John stirred. He groaned and shifted uncomfortably in the bed. When he opened his eyes, his vision was blurry._

"_W-what? Where am I?" he asked aloud, jumping when he received a gently reply._

"_You're in the infirmary, captain," she whispered, patching his wound. "You were attacked by that monster."_

_John tried to sit up, but his arms collapsed under his weight. He panted, trying to catch his breath as his forehead became covered in sweat._

"_R-Radu…," he groaned angrily. "Where is he?"_

"_In the pit, sir. He'll stay there until you've recovered," she said. _

_John nodded, swallowing despite his dry throat. "What's happening to me? Am I-"_

_The girl placed a cold cloth on his forehead. "No sir, you're going to be alright. I've seen men changed by those creatures and you're not in any danger. You just have a high fever and the wound is slightly infected."_

_Her words comforted him, as well as the cloth and John relaxed. "What's your name, darling?"_

_She blushed. "Mary Morstan, sir."_

_He took her hand and squeezed lightly. "Thank you, Mary," he whispered before dozing off into a deep sleep._

"_You're welcome," Mary smiled, knowing he couldn't hear her. She kissed his hand and placed it on his chest before leaving him to rest in peace. _


	4. Chapter 4

Ch 4.

"Here's my move," the cabbie said, pushing one bottle towards Sherlock. He smirked, this was too easy. No matter what happened, if he got the "good" or the "bad" pill, he'd live. He'd eaten rotten garbage and even drank a gallon of rat poison and still nothing.

"Oh please," he rolled his eyes. "This is just pure luck." He might as well have fun with it.

"It's chess," the cabbie insisted. "Now pick."

Sherlock glanced at both bottles of pills. It was pure chance. He quickly snatched the bottle in front of the cabbie.

"Oh…very interesting."

"What is?" Sherlock took the lid off and shook the pill into his hand. "We both know the truth, don't we?"

"Yes, we do…," the cabbie looked up at him; the shadows on his face made him appear a little more sinister than he actually. "It's still an interesting choice, _Radu_."

He nearly dropped the pill, eyes widening slightly. "How-"

"You're not the only vampire that lives in London," the cabbie grinned.

"Who-"

"You know exactly _who_."

Sherlock set the pill down, his mind racing. His followers were dead, as far as he was concerned. His biological brothers were killed, as well as his mother. John wasn't a vampire. Granted, he had vampire blood, Sherlock's blood, in his system but he never completed the transition before Sherlock had him put to sleep and carted away for safety from-

If his heart was beating, it would have stopped.

"My father…," he breathed.

The cabbie smiled, showing off his crooked teeth. "A nice man, he is. Paying me very well for all these murders."

"You work for him?" Sherlock was sitting ramrod straight in his chair. "Where is he?"

He laughed and shook his head. "I honestly don't know. He hides very well, never stays in the same spot for long. But he's been watching you…keeping a careful eye on you…_and_ your little pet. He hasn't forgotten about that little dispute you two had. You broke one of the most important rules he created-"

"No, I didn't!" Sherlock slammed the bottle on the table, shattering it. "John isn't changed, he's still human!"

"Oh, this isn't about your pet being a vampire or not," the cabbie said, wiping off some of the glass on his sleeve. "It's the fact that you chose him over your family. You fell in love with a human."

Sherlock fired back, "I don't love him!"

"Is that so? Then why were you so anxious and happy to have that Stamford arse track him down in the desert and bring him home to you?"

Sherlock rose to his feet and grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him over the table. "Tell me where my father is!"

"Use your deductions and track him down," the cabbie spat. "He's closer than you think. He's always been one step behind you, waiting for the right time to kill your pet."

Sherlock shoved him to the ground and walked away.

"Now where do you think you're going?" the cabbie got to his feet. "Aren't we gonna take our medicine?"

"You know it won't kill me," Sherlock stood with his hand on the door. "I chose the "good bottle."

The cabbie leaned back in his chair. "Did you?"

Sherlock exhaled sharply through his nose. "Yes, I did."

* * *

"John, if you get there, wait for us!" Lestrade yelled into his phone, speeding down the streets of London, sirens wailing.

He hung up, not bothering to listen to the Detective Inspector. From the moment Sherlock walked out of their flat in a haze and climbed into the cab, he knew something was wrong. He followed where the tracking device said Sherlock was, finding two identical buildings with the cab parked between.

His eyes went back and forth, trying desperately to decide which one he was in. He chose the right and began his search. He burst through a door and saw through the window into the other building where Sherlock was with the cabbie.

"Sherlock!" he yelled, but he went unheard by both men. He watched as the cabbie handed Sherlock a pill; the same one all their victims had taken. Acting quickly, he pulled out his gun and fired a single shot.

The cabbie's head arched up as the bullet pierced his neck and his body fell limp to the floor and John bolted before Sherlock could see him. He turned the corner right as Lestrade and the rest of the police came screeching to the scene. John leaned against the wall, catching his breath before heading to the river to toss his gun.

By the time he came back, the police had taped off the road and Sherlock sat in the ambulance, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He was arguing with Lestrade as John stood as close to the tape as possible.

"…probably someone with military service-" he heard Sherlock say when their eyes met and he stopped talking. "Actually, uh…ignore me. It's the shock talking," he said, walking away from a stunned Lestrade.

John kept his poker face on as he approached.

"Where's the gun?" he whispered.

"At the bottom of the river," John replied.

The edges of Sherlock's mouth turned up. "You…are quite a remarkable man."

John nodded. "Right…now, how about dinner? You're in shock; you could use some food, considering you haven't eaten since who knows when."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday," John smiled as they started walking away.

"Yes, it's been a week since I last ate," Sherlock admitted and food _did _sound rather good. Especially Chinese.

"A week!? Jeeze, no wonder you are skin and bones!" John laughed.

Sherlock shrugged, eyes scanning the scene before them. He glanced over his shoulder, searching the shadows. He had a feeling they were being watched and not by Mycroft's security cameras. He pulled out his phone and shot his 'brother' a quick text.

_Are we being followed? ~SH_

A second later, his phone beeped.

_Yes. ~MH_

_Is it him? ~SH_

_Yes. ~MH_

"Let's order from the flat," Sherlock suggested, turning down the nearest street without warning. With this route, they'd be at the flat in two minutes tops.

"What? I thought-"

"Delivery!" Sherlock snapped, grabbing him by his good shoulder and dragging him. It wasn't safe for either of them to on the streets. He could feel the shadows creeping up, threatening to swallow them as Sherlock urged them faster down the alley.

"Blazes, what the hell!?" John yelled as they tore across Baker Street towards their new flat. Sherlock all but threw him up the stairs, into the door before slamming and locking it shut in one fluid move.

"_Recesserimus, belua!"_ Sherlock bellowed, slamming both hands flat on the door.

A loud howl, almost like a wolf, pierced their ears and with a gust of wind, it was carried off, leaving them with goosebumps and silence.

"What…the hell was that?" John asked, exasperated.

"A little precaution," Sherlock sighed, catching his breath before bouncing up the stairs.

"Precau-no!" John marched after him. "You are gonna tell what was chasing us and why you're suddenly spewing Latin!"

Sherlock stopped and turned around, bumping into John. Their faces were inches apart as he placed his hands on John's shoulders.

"Right now…," he said sternly, pupils dilated, "I need you to trust me. There is something else going on and I beg of you, stay inside. Do not go out alone after dark."

"What, why? You're not my mother!" John shoved past him. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

Sherlock groaned. He knew this whole thing could backfire, but he never expected his father to show up. If he got a hold of John…

He shook that thought aside and found John in the kitchen making a cup of tea.

"I'm aware I am asking much of you after we've briefly met, but please…trust me, John. Stay inside tonight," he pleaded.

John bit his lip. "Where would I go anyways?" He handed Sherlock a cup. "Not like I have much of a choice."

Sherlock nodded and took a sip. "I'll, uh…order Chinese if you're still hungry."

"Yes," John sat in his chair and turned the telly on.

About 10 minutes later, the bell rang. Sherlock flew from his chair before John could blink and hurried down the stairs. Thankfully, it was the delivery boy and not his father posing. Sherlock paid and took the food, muttering the same Latin phrase from earlier, hearing a faint hiss on the wind.

"You won't get him," Sherlock muttered darkly. "You will never get him."

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I hit some writer's block and had to re-think this story. I know this chapter doesn't flow from the last one, but hey, y'all wanted some action, yes? And for those wondering, the Latin phrase Sherlock yells means, "Stay away, monster!"


	5. Chapter 5

Ch 5.

_The entire base seemed to be settling down as best they could, though fear spread through the halls. Captain John Watson had ordered the devil be removed from the pit and locked in his cell. _

_Manacles bolted him to the wall, ankle, wrist, and neck. He fidgeted throughout the day; it was rather uncomfortable being forced to stand with the metal chaffing his porcelain skin. Adding to the fact that he was covered in burns and scars from being locked in the pit. 12 hours of constant sun exposure then darkness only for it to repeat again had done permanent damage. Not only did it burn his skin, it set his soul on fire. _

_Sweet revenge would be his._

_The heavy metal door screeched open and footsteps approached. Radu sighed, letting his head thunk against the wall. Probably the brainless guards coming to "torment" him. Yet again._

_When John Watson came into view, dressed in uniform, Radu straightened up, craning his neck high. A frisky grin split onto his lips._

"_Captain," he beamed. "You're looking well. Hope I left some nice scars on you like you have-"_

"_Shut it," John ordered, staying behind the bars. "You should consider yourself lucky my men didn't kill you while I was recovering."_

"_As if they could," Radu rolled his eyes. "21 days and you're back on duty. My, you are strong. I wonder how long your strength would weather if I had drained you more."_

_John was worried, Radu could see it. In the back of his mind, that fear was still there. The thought that he could have John in his arms, helpless as his life was sucked out of him._

"_You know as well as I do you're not safe," Radu added, his voice growling deep in his throat. "As long as I'm held here, you put yourself at risk of attack."_

_John scoffed, shifting his weight. "Yes, it's been a month and your clan has not shown up to rescue you. Makes you wonder how much your father really values you."_

"_Oh he does," Radu snapped back calmly. "I was about to be given command of the Janissary contingents, orders from the Sultan Murad's son, Mehmed the Conqueror of the Topkapi Palace before your buffoons nabbed me. I would have knighted you, let you sit at my table-"_

"_Be your personal food supply," John cut him off, drawing his sword. Radu noted the blade was pure silver._

_He smirked. "No…you'd be my prince."_

"_Not interested," John's clipped reply stung. "Now I have questions and you will give me the answers."_

_Radu slouched, staring off into the darkness. "And if I don't? Are you going to cut me up like a beast with that sword?"_

"_I might," John threatened, letting the light bounce off it. "It was my father's sword. The same one he used to when he tried to kill your father."_

"_And how did that work out for him?" Radu chuckled. "You should be careful, Captain, history has a tendency to repeat itself."_

_John tightened his lips and stepped towards the door. "It may, but I'm not that stupid. Now…answer me, how did you become this way?"_

"_Ah, now there's a good question," Radu pondered. He shifted his own weight and flexed his arms, allowing his wrists some freedom and to rest the sensitive skin. "How is your knowledge in the medical field?"_

"_I was a doctor before I was promoted to Captain," he replied._

_Radu nodded. "Good, good…have you heard of __Cutaneous porphyrias__?" _

_When he was met with silence, he checked the captain in his peripheral vision. "Stumped? Well then, let me educate you. Cutaneous Porphyria is a liver disease. It causes a buildup of heme in the blood. Basically causes extreme sensitivity to sunlight, as you can tell," he motioned to his bare burnt body. _

"_So…consuming blood helps balance that out?" John wondered aloud, glancing at Radu's skin._

"_Not necessarily, that was more of father's blood lust. After a battle, he would drain the bodies of the leaders and drink it, sometimes even dip his meals in it like fondue," Radu added. "It became a ritual at first, but he convinced himself that pure, unaltered blood was the cure. He became obsessed with blood and passed it on to my brother and myself."_

_John nodded, taking all the information in. "You've got a brother?"_

"_Yes, a legitimate brother in the eyes of the law," Radu smiled. "He's not as strong as I am, but he exists."_

"_And you drink blood in order to survive?"_

"_It's a habit now. After you taste blood for the first time, you are curious to try more. Every person has their own unique flavour. Your father tasted of cooper and metal and gun powder; no doubt from being on the front lines so often."_

_John inhaled sharply, choosing to ignore that comment. "Doesn't everyone's blood taste like cooper? I've torn my lip several tim-"_

"_Nooo, nooo," Radu shook his head. "Of course your own blood tastes bland to you. It's always in your body, you're used to it. Try tasting someone else's blood. You taste so differently from your father; I almost didn't believe you were related."_

'_And what-" John cleared his throat nervously. "What do I…taste…like?"_

_Radu smiled, his straight white teeth gleaming. "Oh John…you are divine. So sweet and…yet fiery. Like a honeysuckle that's been in campfire smoke. A natural oak wood smoke, very rustic and strong, but delicate and sweet. If it wasn't for this imprisonment, I'd have you chained in my palace with an IV in your neck, keeping bags upon bags of you in my cellar-"_

"_That's enough!" John shouted, sweat breaking on his brow. _

"_Consider that subtle compared to what my father would do to you," Radu muttered. "He'd have you bound to the dining table, ripping and tearing your neck and wrists open, allowing you to bleed out on-"_

"_I said THAT'S ENOUGH!" John bellowed, unlocking the prison door. With a swipe of his blade, a glistening red line spread across Radu's chest. His sick blood resembled melted rubies, shining and gliding down his chest. He groaned, nuzzling his lips with his sharp teeth._

"_Go on then, Captain," he kept his head bowed, and raised his eyes to John. "Have a taste."_

"_No," he backed away. "I won't become a monster like you."_

"_You already have."_

* * *

3 weeks had passed since the Study in Pink and life at Baker Street was as normal as it could get. If you considered explosions in the kitchen, severed heads in the fridge, Sherlock shooting holes in the walls at 3am; then yes, life was normal.

John rested back in his chair, publishing his latest blog about Sherlock attempting to bake crème brulee and torching the counter tops. He had underestimated the intensity of the torch and now there were two perfect marble circles surrounded by black scorch marks. The crème brulee was surprisingly delicious, but John suggested next time, they'd have it professionally made at a diner.

"Oh, I'll probably be home late tonight," John said, rising from his chair and shutting off his computer. I've got a job interview tonight. Locum work."

"Dull," Sherlock replied, sprawled out on the couch.

"Someone has to pay the bills," John muttered, pulling on his jacket. "See you later. Wish me luck."

"Luck!" he called as John descended the stairs. The moment the front door closed, Sherlock flew to the window. He watched as John crossed the street, pulling his jacket closer to him. He looked so small, so vulnerable on the streets; so easy to attack. Sherlock sighed when he heard the front door creak open and a heavy set of feet stomped up the stairs.

Only one person walked that way…

He turned around in time to have a hand clench his throat, slamming him into the window. The silver lining of the window latch burnt into his skin. Sherlock grunted, struggled and kicked at the attacker, but it did little. Another hand scooped his wrists and shoved them above his head.

"You're getting slow, little brother," a sarcastic, mild toned voice whispered in his ear. The man leaned back, revealing his face. He had the same dark hair as Sherlock, but his eyes were black. He stood nearly a foot taller, skin pale as the moon.

"Mihal," Sherlock breathed, anger boiling in his veins. Of course…the moment John opened the door; his hex was released, leaving Baker Street defenseless. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"Actually, seeing your pet alive is," Mihal snickered, cutting off the blood flow to Sherlock's wrists. "Do you remember that night you broke him out of father's prison cell in Castle Bran and went to our aunt for help-?"

"Of course I do!" Sherlock hissed, testing his brother's strength.

"Seems like it was yesterday," Mihal reflected, keeping a firm grip on his wiggling brother.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock spat, digging his nails into his brother's palm. That got him to let go and Sherlock delivered a solid kick to his chest. Mihal knocked over the table with John's laptop, smashing it. Sherlock pounced, yanking him by the collar of his jacket. "Where's father!?"

Mihal laughed darkly, wiping the blood from his lips. "Finishing what he started 500 years ago. I doubt your little pet even made it to the corner block."

Sherlock dropped him, his breathing short. "John…" It was a trap. The interview…and this-his brother-was a distraction, giving his father time. Sherlock fled the scene, racing for the door. He jumped at the top of the stairs, leaving imprints of his shoes as he hit the floor at the bottom and ripped the door off its hinges, vanishing into the night.

* * *

John walked briskly down the street, the cold crisp air calming his nerves.

"_No need to be nervous, it's just an interview. For a job…which you've never had…"_ his conscience informed him. Technically, it was true. John never had a part-time job, just medical school and the army. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the large figure walking towards him until they bumped into one another.

"Oh, sorry!" he apologized, picking the man up. "Sorry, I was just uh...lost in thought. Are you alright?"

The man rose to his full height, a good foot and a half taller than John. He had long black hair tied back into a ponytail and mystifying silver eyes. His lips were perfectly sculpted with a dominant cupid's bow, thin small nose, and high define cheekbones.

"Oh, pardon me good sir," the gentlemen replied. "You're not the only one lost in thought tonight."

John laughed nervously. "John Watson," he extended his hand.

"Dale Tepes," the man shook his hand. "Well, have a wonderful evening, Mr. Watson."

"Likewise Mr. Tepes," John smiled and continued on his way to the hospital. Dale watched him go, eyes narrowing.

_Found you…Captain Watson._

* * *

"_ATTACK! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"_

_Radu woke up, hearing the sirens go off. He grinned wickedly. His family had come. Guards ran for the surface, leaving him chained. Radu listened as the doors and windows were shattered and blood curdling screams filled the air. Gun shots rang out like fireworks as the men attempted to defend themselves._

"_Get the women and children out!" he heard John order, his voice booming. Radu shivered, he liked the sound of John being in command. Moments later, the doors to the dungeon opened and a figure came dashing down the stairs._

_Radu was surprised to see John with the keys in his hands. "You…John, what are you doing?" he asked curiously and calmly._

_John yanked open the cell door and ran to him. "Letting you go. Your family wants you and I'm not going to let any innocent blood be spilt," he gasped for breath as he jammed the key in the manacles. "Get out," John ordered, stepping back with his gun drawn. _

_He stood with his arms raised as the manacles clanked on the floor. "You're letting me go?" Radu was confused. "After all the time and effort and men you sacrificed to enslave me…you're setting me free?"_

"_Do it before I change my mind," John motioned to the door. _

_Radu stepped away from the wall, eyeing John with interest. Not his usual lustful interest…but something else. Curiosity…compassion?_

"_Thank you," he muttered, standing before the military man. In the shadow of his coat collar, Radu could see the scar left by the blade he'd used. "I hope our paths cross again soon, under different circumstances."_

"_Don't count on it," John snapped, heading out of the cell to rejoin the battle raging on upstairs._

_Radu remained still for a moment longer until another figure came bolting down the stairs, calling his name. He recognized that voice._

"_Mihal!" he cried joyfully at the sight of his brother. They embraced quickly before charging upstairs. _

_The halls were coated with blood; bodies were hanging off candle tiers, out of windows, piled in the corners with chunks of flesh and muscle missing at the neck, chest and arms. Mihal and Radu sprinted down another hall, their boots splashing in the blood as if they were rain puddles._

"_Father will be pleased to know you're alive!" Mihal explained. "We've torn apart every military camp from home to here searching for you. They kept you well hidden."_

_They came to the courtyard and found their father in the corner, feasting on a soldier. Radu knew him, the stupid bastard who bugged him every day while he was in the pit. He beamed as they approached._

"_Father!"_

_The man looked up and dropped the solider. "Radu, my son, you're alive!" he jumped down and hugged his youngest son. "Your skin…"_

"_Yes, I know," Radu sighed, sinking into his father's embrace. "You grew your hair out. Mother would be jealous."_

_His father roared with laughter, his mouth stained with fresh blood. "Tell me, who was your captor? I want revenge for what he's done."_

_Radu scanned the scene. "I never knew who was in charge," he lied. "They kept me locked in the pit."_

_Mihal growled. "Then we should slaughter every last man and woman here! They need to pay for they've done!"_

"_No," Vlad, their father, clapped a hand on shoulder. "We have captives. That's more than enough. This particular regiment will never rise again. Let us return to our home." He turned to Radu, "Once you've recovered, the Sultan will be pleased to have you at his side."_

_Radu grinned, "And our plan will continue as before?"_

_Vlad nodded. "Yes."_

* * *

A/N: Okay, so some quick notes. I got the information for Radu/Sherlock mixed with Vlad the Impaler's brother Radu (they didn't have a range of names to choose from) but the information is accurate. In Vlad's first marriage, he two sons named Mihean and Mihal. Between marriages, he had an illegitimate son, Radu (who is Sherlock here.) Annnd...can anyone guess who Dale Tepes is? *wink wink*


	6. Chapter 6

_Ch 6._

_5 years since Radu's captivity had passed and what splendid years they had been. He had successfuly overthrown the Ottoman Empire and gained the throne for himself. With the sultan and his son dead, Radu was set to reign for all time. _

_On the eve of his anniversary as ruler; Vlad, his father, had personally invited him to stay at Castle Bran, his newest establishment. _

_"I have a gift for you, my son. A prize for your achievements," the note had read._

_With an excited and anxious smile, Radu traveled to his father's grand castle, marveling at it as he approached. The large double doors opened for him and Vlad stood there, his black cape flowing behind him._

_"Son!" he exclaimed happily, walking forward to embrace him. "My wonderful son. You have made me proud and tonight we shall feast in your honor!"_

_Radu beamed, returning his father's gesture. "Without your help, I would've never achieved this. It is you we should be honoring!"_

_Vlad laughed and ushered him inside where a gala was taking place. The night passed swiftly, full of good food, beautiful women that Mihal had seduced away into his bedroom while Radu sat proudly at the throne overlooking the ballroom. He leaned back in his chair, content._

_Eyeing his son, Vlad approached him and whispered into his ear, "My gift to you is in your room, should you want it at any time."_

_Radu looked at him curiously. "Father, if it's another-"_

_"No, no, it's not a woman, I promise," Vlad chuckled. "It's a prisoner from the war. The only survivor from the fort we rescued you from. A captain of the guard, very strong and brave. A determined fighter, but like all mere men, he was no match for us. I give you the honor of draining the last scum of that base."_

_Radu sat up in his chair, gripping the arms tightly, his eyes widening. "It can't be..."_

_Without another word, he rushed up the grand staircase to his room. Several oil lamps were lit, illuminating the room and the figure chained to his bed._

_Manalces with long chains were bolted to the ceiling above the mattress, holding the limp, naked man in place. His ankles were bound beneath him and a gag silenced him. In the dim light, Radu recognized him._

_"John..." he breathed, dashing to him. Radu climbed onto the bed and pulled the rag from his mouth. "How? What happened?" Radu looked him over, noticing the angry red bite marks in John's neck and on his wrists. The scar he had left had been cut open and was now scabbed over. There was a fresh bite on his shoulder, above the collarbone._

_John gasped for breath when the rag was removed, the manacles supporting his weight. His back was slumped as he tried to keep his head up. "You...were right," he muttered, his voice weak and raw._

_"About what?" Radu wondered, pulling the sheet from the base of the bed and draped it over John's shoulders._

_"Your father...using me as a personal blood bank," John sighed, letting his head drop, his chin touching his collarbone. "After the raid...a few of my men were caught. I tried to rescue them, but...well, you can see for yourself."_

_Radu gulped, breaking the cuffs over John's wrists and carefully laid him down on the bed to rest. "You've been here all this time? All these years?" he asked, tracing a finger over John's wounds. He nodded and pulled the blanket over his body. _

_"Wait here," he whispered. Radu returned moments later with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread. "Drink this," he held the glass to John's lips, who drank generously. _

_John collapsed on the bed, keeping his eyes shut. "So...I'm your prisoner now, hmm? Ironic turn of events-"_

_"No," Radu cut him off. "You're not my prisoner. I won't torture you the way you did to me. Granted, I should kill you for what you did, but...you showed me mercy and compassion. I can only do the same for you, John."_

_"How?" John asked, tearing off a small chunk of bread. "Your father is expecting you to torture me until I beg for mercy. You can't exactly fake that."_

_"I will find a way," Radu assured him, "I imagine he's responsible for all of these," he gestured to the bite marks on John's body._

_"Yes," John muttered as he chewed on the bread. "Your father had to pry your brother off of me on several occasions to ensure I'd survive so you could kill me."_

_Radu watched him and poured him another glass of water. "I won't let them harm you, I promise. I will get you out of here, and you can consider my debt to you paid."_

* * *

John turned the corner, seeing the office at the end of the street. As he approached it, he noticed most of the lights were turned off, save one. He tried the door and it didn't open.

"Hello?" he called, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer inside the window. Backing up, he checked to make sure it was the right place, which it was, but...no sign of Sarah or any other human being for that matter.

He jumped when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Reaching for it, John didn't hear the man behind him approach.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, panting as he ran down the street as fast as his legs would carry him. "Where are you!?"

"What?" John frowned, holding the phone back a bit. "I'm outside the office, but no one's here. What's going on Sherlock? Are you oka-"

"It's a trap!" Sherlock yelled. "You need to-"

The connection cut out and his phone went dead. John smacked it, trying to turn it on. "Hello? Sherlock? Bloody hell..."

"Is something wrong, John?" there was Dale Tepes, standing 3 feet away, his hands in his pockets.

John stuffed his useless phone away. "Hey, no...it's fine. Phone's a piece of junk. What are you doing here?"

Dale shrugged, brushing his long black, elegant ponytail over his shoulder. "I got myself turned around and saw you there. Just wanted to make sure things were alright. You sounded distressed."

"My flatmate," John sighed, shaking his head. "He's a bit...high strung. An odd one, but I suppose no different from a POW recently rescued from Afghanistan."

Dale stepped closer, intrigued. "You're a solider?"

John nodded, "Honorably discharged, but yes. I don't remember much, PTSD my therapist says."

"I'm terribly sorry," Dale apoligized, now standing shoulder to shoulder with John. "My thanks to you for doing such an honorable act as to serve our country."

"Thanks," John smiled, looking up at the office. "Well, looks like this was a phoney. I should've known as much."

Dale shfited on his feet. "That's a shame, indeed. Might I buy you a drink? As a consolation?"

John chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Oh...why not? I seem to have the absolute worst luck in this city anyways."

Dale laughed, putting an arm around John's shoulders as he led John away towards the main road. "Don't be so hard on yourself, John. I had a difficult time myself getting settled. I can't imagine what it had to be like for you, being thrown back into soceity without a clue as to who you were or what you did in the war."

He tried to shrug off Dale's arm, but gave up as they turned the corner. "It's strange...I can't remember what I did before the military. Everything's a blur to me...hell, my life is now insane. Several months ago, I met Sherlock Holmes and now we're gallavanting around town, solving crimes."

"Sherlock Holmes," Dale commented, grinning at the name. "Such an...interesting name. Rather peculiar..."

"Oh he is," John commented, not really paying attention to where he was walking. "He does this thing...I don't know how to describe it. He gets rather anxious and jumpy at night and once he practically dragged me home after a case, slammed the front door and spewed some Latin incantation, like he was-I don't know...casting a spell or something. Does that sound crazy?"

Dale held back his grin as they turned another corner. Just one more block and he'd have John cornered. "Well, you know people these days. Always into the spiritual, hippy earth nonsense. I say it's rather harmless fun, probably trying a bit too hard to make you feel comfortable."

John nodded. "Probably...so where is this bar anyways?" he looked up, noticing they were in a rather deserted area of town, badly lit. Then he realized...

Both men moved simutaneously to attack and defend. Dale tightened his arm around John's neck, cutting off his air. His free hand collided with John's first and he twisted it back until the faint _pop _of John's shoulder dislocating was heard. He let out a cry and slumped to his knees as Dale pinned him flat the sidewalk.

"Get the hell off me!" John yelled, struggling desperately to get out from under Dale. "You fucking bastard-"

A hand clamped over his mouth. "Tsk, tsk, langauge Captain," Dale commented. "You're even more foolish than I recall, though it has been, what...almost 500 years since we met?"

"Mmmt?" John asked in disbelief, his voice muffled by Dale's hand. With a harsh yank, he was hauled to his feet. John moved to strike again, but Dale was faster, stronger and predicted his move. Instead he slammed his forehead into John's, rendering him unconscious.

He scooped John's limp body into his arms and slipped into the shadows and down the alley. So far, everything was going according to plan. He made his way through the tunnels until he reached the small scene he had set up. A single chair with chains on it, an IV and a stash of medical bags. A large wooden crate was positioned across from it, along with a small bed and a bag of clothing. As he approached, a shadow from the other entrance covered the wall.

"Do you have him, father?" Mihal asked, striding up proudly.

Dale stepped into the light and set John's form in the chair and strapped the manacles on. "Now our work begins. Where is Radu?"

Mihal grinned, flashing his teeth. "I...subdued him. He should be a little late, but not too late. Just in time for the potions effects to wear off."

Dale returned the gesture and set up the IV, jabbing it into John's vein at his elbow. They watched as the dark red liquid flowed smoothly and the first bag began to fill. "Just as we planned."

* * *

_"Are you pleased with your new gift, dear brother?" Mihal asked bitterly, collapsing into his chair at the dining table. "I don't see why father didn't just castrate the bastard and leave him to die!"_

_Radu shrugged, pouring them both a glass of wine. "Father does what he chooses to. I simply comply. And since you're so curious, my...," he paused, "prisoner is just fine."_

_Mihal sneered. "Of course, you get the typical blonde hair, blue eyes military captain and I get nameless whores from the brothels. Why you always be the spoiled one?"_

_He nearly choked on his drink. "Me?" Radu laughed. "Compared to you, what I have is nothing! You're father's only true son and heir to his throne. You inherit everything, will have a title and riches beyond belief. I had to fight to earn everything that is now mine. If anything, I should be envious of you, dear brother."_

_Radu took another drink, eyeing his brother. "If it pleases you, we can find another military base to attack and get you your own captain-"_

_"Oh, shut up!" Mihal snapped, standing adruptly. "If you hadn't been so weak in that moment, that little captain of yours would be mine! In fact, I don't see why he can't be mine anyways!"_

_Radu sat there stunned as Mihal stormed off. "Where do you think you're going?" he called, striding after his brother. "If you dare lay a finger on John-"_

_"Oh, he has a name, does he?" Mihal rounded on his younger, bastard brother. "Getting a little sentimental, aren't we? Calling our slaves by a name?"_

_"He's not a slave," Radu muttered, straightening up to match his brother's eye level. "And you will not refer to him in that manner. As you've stated, he is mine to do with as I please and I demand that you not touch him until I give you premission to do so. Is that clear?"_

_Mihal blinked, scoffing. "Who are you to give orders, Radu? All because father treated you to a gala and that man, you think you have the right to do as you please?"_

_"No, I don't," Radu's voice dropped low, a dangerous fire burned in his eyes. "You have always been the superior between the two of us, in terms of status. Strength wise, I do outrank you-"_

_"Do you?" Mihal shoved him back. "Then why aren't you strong enough to kill that man? Did you forget he tortured you and left you to rot in that base? If it hadn't been for me tracking you down, you would've died there! You should be thanking me for saving your life!"_

_"I am grateful for that," Radu countered, moving towards the stairway, blocking Mihal's escape. "Not every prisoner we take should be randomly slaughtered. Perhaps-"_

_"Perhaps what?" Mihal moved towards him, eyes darting to Radu's bedroom door. "Perhaps this one is different."_

_Silence filled the hall for several long moments. Radu was as frozen as a statue, his eyes not moving, nor did he take a breath. _

_"Am I right?" Mihal pressed on, taking a step towards him. He stood on the step below Radu but towered over him. "Am I right, little brother? You care for him, don't you?"_

_The breath he'd been holding was finally released and Radu stepped back. "I don't care for him. How could you say that?"_

_"There's something different about him," Mihal noted, taking a fistful of Radu's shirt. "What happened during your captivity? Did you taste his blood and now you want him all for yourself?"_

_"No-"_

_"Then what? What did he do that softened your heart? What makes you so weak when his safety is threatened?"_

_Radu put his hand over Mihal's, realeasing his grip as he replied, "John let me go. When you and father attacked the base...John released me. He didn't want anyone else to die because of his mistake."_

_Mihal's face was blank for a moment, then he grinned wickedly. "Oh, I see. You feel that you're in debt to him. That you owe him your life because he spared you. And now you're growing sentimental...possibly too much." He paused for a moment, then muttered, "Don't tell me...you love him."_

_"No," Radu hissed instantly. "You know as well as I do that father forbid us from-"_

_"And you disobied," Mihal shoved him to the floor, dashing up the stairs. "You love that man and you're keeping him safe in your room."_

_Radu scrambled to his feet, chasing after his brother, whose eyes were set on his room where John was resting. "Mihal, you will not touch him!"_

_"No, I'll give him to father," he replied, kicking the door open to find John asleep on the bed. "Then he will kill both of you."_

* * *

"It's a trap!" Sherlock yelled. "You need to-"

A fist collided with the back of his head and Sherlock went down hard. He phone broke and fell into the gutter.

"No interferring this time," Mihal smiled, wiping his hand on his jacket. "The fun hasn't even begun yet."

Sherlock rolled over onto his back, his vision swimming. "What-what are you-"

"Don't act coy, little bastard," Mihal said, hunkering down beside him. "You know exactly what father plans to do."


End file.
